Boats
by Staggering Wood-Elf
Summary: A story on one of the many uses of the River Narog... Birthday fic for Ellipsis (March 9th). Featuring Gwindor, Finduilas, Orodreth, Finrod, and certain snarky Fëanorians...


  
An (extremely late) birthday fic for Ellipsis, whose birthday was way back on March 9th. I believe she asked for something to do with Gwindor, Nargothrond or Elflings. (Just) managed to get all three in!   
A story on one of the many uses of the River Narog... Meant to be light-hearted, but a stupid!ironic!happiness!angstbunny may have affected that slightly. Sorry.   
  
  
Boats   
  
  
  
  
The summer of the year after the Bragollach was noted as being one of exceptional beauty. In Nargothrond, every terrace was ablaze with roses, and the lawns were almost choked with daisies and buttercups vying for the light. Already, the vines and fruit-trees grew thick-leaved, their boughs pregnant with fruit. The wine-season promised to be an excellent one, and extra jars had been hurriedly made to catch all the sweet juice. Not a drop was to be wasted.   
That day, the sky was impossibly blue, with not a cloud in sight. It was hot. A storm was gathering in the North, but it would not break, not just yet. The sun was benevolent and cast a growling heat across the land, with just a breath of air stirring in the willows on the hillsides. It was nearing midday, so the light fell into the vale of Narog, bathing the balconies and gardens in a dazzling light.   
However, the beauties of the city were forgotten today, for the citizens of Nargothrond had gathered together by the river. They were there for the important task of watching the annual summer boat-race, traditionally an event of much merriment. By the river, a pavillion had been set up, which was overflowing with sun-browned elves. Their hair and light summer garments were woven with flowers, and the makeshift thrones of Finrod, Orodreth and Finduilas were strewn with golden elanor.   
Orodreth leaned over to his daughter to whisper in her ear.   
"Which of the noble lords is your champion today?"   
Finduilas giggled, and indicated with a finger towards the front of the line of competitors. Gwindor was there, his face set in a serious frown, concentrating on the river ahead. He was by no means the favourite, being one of the youngest taking part, but he was smaller and quicker than most, and in his lithe form hid a surprising amount of strength. Orodreth caught sight of a flash of silver bound about his arm, and simultaneously realised that one of his daughter's dresses was missing a sleeve.   
Finrod smiled and said nothing.   
At the river bank, the competitors were assembled in a line. Much work had gone into the crafting of the boats, and only the finest birchwoods had been cut to make them. There were smiths, crop-tenders, loremasters and craftsmen, as well as several young elflings, with their little hazelnut-faces fixed intently on the course ahead, or laughing and attempting to get as wet as possible before the race had even started.   
Celegorm and Curufin, in unusually good spirits, had agreed to judge, and were pacing up and down the line expressing scorn at the "pitiful" craftsmanship. The prize was a golden wreath crafted by Curufin himself, who had quickly located the smithy in his new home. It sat glittering ostentatiously on a deep-red cushion, next to the royal pavilion.   
Also, Finduilas had offered a kiss to the lucky victor, so Gwindor's serious expression was no surprise. He had to win, after all, to defend his lady's honour.   
Three trumpets rang out, and at once a hush fell over the crowd. The competitors took their places in their boats. Every hand was poised to cut the rope binding their vessel to the moorings, every oar raised to cast off.   
Celegorm strode up the banking, inspecting the line and rather enjoying the spectacle.   
"The first boat to pass the bridge of rope wins," he called out. "No bumping or pushing with oars-"   
"Try not to sink one and other," Curufin remarked. He looked to Finrod for the signal to begin, and the King waved. There was a great flare of trumpets from beneath the royal pavillion.   
At King's signal, Celegorm swung his arm extravagantly, and the ropes were cut with one movement. Suddenly the still brown surface of the river became a frenzied splashing as each sailor scrambled to get the best position in the race. Although a light-hearted contest, there were those that raced to win, for the glory and recognition the prize would bring. There were those that raced merely for the love of sport on a hot summer's day, laughing in delight at the way their oars sliced through the water, enjoying the speed and the rush of wind in their ears.   
Finduilas leapt to her feet and cheered, quite forgetting her royal station for a moment. The sun flashed against the river, making ir rather difficult to see.   
Then, a great roar went up from the crowd. Someone had pushed ahead into the lead, and from the pavillion they saw him, rowing furiously, his little boat gleaming in the sun.   
"Father, is that Gwindor?" Finduilas said breathlessly.   
"I cannot be sure," he said. "It could be that Master Celebrimbor has taken the lead, or the maiden Duiliel... It is very difficult to see, with the oars splashing..."   
"What a foam they are raising!" exclaimed Finrod. "Never have I seen such a race before!"   
"But is Gwindor leading?"   
Already, the racers were lost in a tumult of foam. Several elflings of barely fifty summers had already overturned, and were being hauled out of the river red-faced, only able to watch the others finish. Celegorm laughed, but Curufin's keen eyes were on the finishing line, the rope-bridge gleaming in the distance. It was the only permanent crossing of the river Narog, and in these watchful days it was always guarded by armed elves, ready to cut it down should they fall under attack.   
Orodreth leaned forward in interest.   
"Now they are turning the corner... we shall see who leads..."   
"Look! It is Celebrimbor!"   
"Always was a strong lad," put in Silgaladh, one of Finrod's councillors.   
"Look at how he steers! Such strength! And Celegorm and Curufin are cheering for him," Orodreth said, leaning so far out of his seat he was liable to fall out.   
"Arminas is close behind, though..."   
"But where is Gwindor?" Finduilas said, anxiously tugging at the garland of roses set atop her hair. "Oh, father, I do hope Gwindor wins. I should not like to kiss Celebrimbor."   
Orodreth and Finrod exchanged amused glances.   
"Duiliel is catching up, I think..."   
"Nay, that must be the boat of Arminas, it is white!"   
Finduilas strained with her elven-sight to see. "Gwindor's boat is also white," she said softly, hopefully.   
Then, a great cheer went up from the spectators downriver. The race was won. Already the winner was being hauled from his boat and carried on the spectators' shoulders in a parade of victory. Yet the sun was no longer their ally, and glinting against the device of the winner's house being raised up on a pole, it was impossible to tell whose it was.   
Orodreth bit his nails in frustration.   
The party bearing the victorious elf was now almost back to the pavillion, and passing under the shade of a nearby tree, his device was at last revealed. Despite being drenched and well-nigh exhausted, the winner was laughing in a familiar voice, and he joined in whole-heartedly with their song.   
Finduilas made a little sound in her throat when she recognised the shield, followed by a shriek of joy. Forgetting all the stately dignities expected of a princess, she leapt down from the pavillion, and flung her arms around him.   
"Gwindor!" she cried. "You won!"   
"My lady," he managed to utter between kisses, "There was a certain prize at stake."   
"And would you recieve it now?"   
"I would," he laughed, and proceeded to recieve his prize for a second time.   
"She said a kiss," Celebrimbor observed unhappily, "not that. Had I won, I would have got a peck on the cheek."   
"Perhaps," said Curufin, distractedly. "Let's take another look at your boat. I do not think it was streamlined enough, and the oars were too heavy..."   
Meanwhile, the other elves had assembled before their King. Wine was being poured, for competitor and spectator alike, and several members of the King's household bore plates of fresh strawberries and plums.   
Gwindor knelt before Finrod. "My King," he said, "I have come to accept my prize."   
Finrod smiled down from his pavillion. "Then take it, young master. Truly it was well-earned." Taking the golden crown from its cushion, he leant forward, and placed it on Gwindor's head.   
He stood up. Crowned, there was a definite air of nobility about the young elf, and he seemed taller, stronger. Almost as one of the royal house. The crowd shouted their approval, and Gwindor blushed. It had suddenly come to mind that he stood before a King soaked in river-water, and that he had just made a spectacle of himself in front of the crowd. He and Finduilas had planned to keep their betrothal a secret, at least until another year had passed since the great battle, but...   
Finrod said, "Well."   
"Well?" Gwindor inquired nervously.   
"Well, why do you not claim the second part of your prize?"   
"Oh," said Gwindor, his eyes darting to Finrod's niece at his side, putting the crown to shame with her loveliness.   
"But I already have..."   
"I do not think anyone will mind," Finrod said, laying a hand on Gwindor's shoulder. "A King's kinsman may take certain liberties, after all..."   
Gwindor managed to suppress the grin that was rising to his cheeks rapidly. "If... If my Lady wishes, I would ask for another kiss," he said.   
"She does," Finduilas said simply, opening her arms to embrace her champion.   
So great was the joy of the King and the people of Nargothrond, that they did not notice several of the boats, hastily dropped at the water's edge, begin to get caught in the current and slip away down the river. In the light breeze, their white ribbons fluttered all the way to the great sea and beyond.   
It was such a lovely hot day, with the storm gathering on the distant horizon.   



End file.
